When History Repeats Itself

Chapter Fourteen

** Lucas Wole - David Harewood**

I sat cross-legged at my desk, obsessively refreshing my email every five seconds. I was waiting on a response from Tim, our Head of Design, who was on sick leave. I knew he was probably Dom's best friend, but I wasn't about to run to my boyfriend just because his bestie wouldn't respond. I was determined to handle this professionally.

"Still trying to reach Tim?" Paba asked, sounding both amused and slightly exhausted. She'd heard me abuse the Enter key enough times today.

"He won't reply the damn email. I know he's sick, but I need a response or the client is going to have me for dinner." I jabbed the key again. "The deadline for feedback is close of day, Friday. Today is Friday."

Dom appeared in his doorway just as the elevator pinged and my predecessor strolled in. I barely noticed her emerge from Storage. Speaking of Storage, my monthly bonus was still pending. I was waiting on Nick Chase, our CEO, to return from South Africa and crown me for keeping operations running in his absence. Frankly, I deserved an award for surviving this week.

"Kerry, could you please bring over those folders we discussed earlier?" Dom said with a perfectly straight face.

So that's why he was acting like Mr. Professional. The woman from Storage was here, all business—though thankfully too caught up in whatever she was showing Paba to clock the awkward energy.

I straightened my navy-blue pencil skirt and picked up a black folder from my desk—the one containing a backlog of invitation letters I still hadn't filed. Convenient cover. I walked briskly into Dom's office and closed the door behind me. He was already seated.

I sat across from him and hissed, "I thought we agreed to keep things professional the minute we enter this building."

"What's in that folder?" he asked, eyes twinkling.

"None of your business. Why did you call me in here?"

"Because today during our lunch break, we're going to see the HR manager," he said, tapping the edge of his desk.

"Lunch break? When everyone is less distracted by work? We're just going to stroll into HR together? Dom, are you deliberately trying to make me seize in public?"

"I know it sounds cliché—boss and the secretary—"

"I'm not a secretary. I'm your uncle's executive assistant."

"People will talk for a bit, but they'll get over it."

"And your uncle?"

"Let's tackle HR first. Then we can decide how to break the news to our respective families this weekend."

He picked up the intercom. "Expect me at noon. I'd appreciate it if my visit is handled delicately."

Delicately — rich people code for hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. My dad taught me that one.

"Can I leave now? Before we arouse any more suspicion?" I shifted in the chair.

"Kerry, are you sure you're ready to take this next step?"

"See you at noon. I'll be the squirming one standing outside HR."

I left his office without looking back. Moments later, Tim finally replied. But it was the first line of his email that made my stomach drop:

'Dom says you've been trying to reach me...'

How did Dom know? Had he bugged my desk? I looked up at Paba, already sure she was the mole. I didn't bother confronting her.